Blackadder III (Blackadder the Third)

You look smart, Mr Blackadder. Going somewhere nice?

- No, I'm off to the theatre. - Don't you like it, then?

No, I don't! A lot of stupid actors strutting around shouting, with their chests thrust out so far,

you'd think their nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants!

And the worst thing about it is having to go with Prince Mini-Brain!

- Doesn't he like it, either? - He loves it.

The problem is that he doesn't realise it's made up.

Last year, when Brutus was about to kill Julius Caesar, the Prince yelled out,

"Look behind you, Mr Caesar!"

I can't see the point in the theatre. All that sex and violence - I get enough of that at home.

Except for the sex, of course.

I want you to give this palace a good clean. It's so dirty, it'd be unacceptable to a dung-beetle

that had lost interest in its career and really let itself go.

Come on, Blackadder, or we'll miss the first act!

Coming, sir, as fast as I can!

Stick the kettle on, Baldrick.

Now, sir, give I this advice to thee: Never, never, never trust thine enemy.

Agh!

Aaaaaagh!

Thy life is forfeit, sir... Aaagh...

Thy life is forfeit, sir, and at an end, like our poor play.

We hope it pleased you, friends.

Certainly not, you murdering rotter! Guards, arrest that man!

- Your Highness, it's only a play. - What about the poor fellow who's dead?

Saying "it's only a play" will not feed and clothe the little ones he leaves behind. Call the militia!

Sir, he's not dead. See, he stands, awaiting your applause.

Oh, I say, that's very clever. He really isn't dead.

Bravo! Bravo!

- Blast, the Prince likes it! - Shit, we'll close tonight.

Work for the weavers! Smash the Spinning Jenny!

Burn the Rolling Rosalind! Destroy the Going Up and Down a Bit and then Moving Along Gertrude!

And death to the stupid Prince who grows fat on the profits!

I say, how exciting! This play's getting better and better! Bravo!

It's not a play any more, sir.

Put the bomb down and make your way quietly to the exit.

Blackadder, your problem is, you can't tell when something's real and when it's not.

I must say, Blackadder, that was a close shave.

Why on earth would an anarchist possibly want to kill "you"?

- I think it might've been you he was after, sir. - Hogwash! What on earth makes you say that?

Well, my suspicions were first aroused by his use of the words "Death to the stupid Prince".

It was a bit rude, wasn't it?

These are volatile times, Your Highness. The American Revolution lost your father the Colonies,

the French Revolution murdered brave King Louis and there are tremendous rumblings in Prussia,

although that might be something to do with the sausages.

The whole world cries out, "Peace, freedom, and a few less fat bastards eating all the pie".

Well, yes, quite, something must be done. Any ideas?

Yes, sir. Next week is your royal father's birthday celebrations.

I suggest that I write a brilliant speech for you to recite,

to show the oppressed masses how unusually sensitive you are.

Tell me about these "oppressed masses", what are they so worked up about?

Because they are so poor,

they are forced to have children simply to provide a cheap alternative to turkey at Christmas.

Disease and depravation stalk our land like... two giant stalking things.

- And the working man is poised to overthrow us. - Oh my God, and here he is!

- Don't be silly, sir. That's Baldrick, my dogsbody. - He looks like an oppressed mass to me.

- Get him out of here at once! - Shoo, Baldrick, carry on cleaning elsewhere.

By the end of tonight, I want that dining table so clean I can eat my dinner off it.

Crikey, Blackadder, I'm dicing with death here.

The sooner I can show how unusually sensitive I am, the better.

- Oh, I just had another brilliant thought. - Another one, Your Highness?

Yes, another one, actually!

You remember that one I had about wearing underwear on the outside to save on laundry bills?

Why don't we ask those two actors we saw tonight to teach me how to recite your speech?

- Brilliant, eh? - No, Your Highness, feeble.

What?

I would advise against it. It's a feeble idea.

Well, tish and pish to your advice, Blackadder! Get them here at once!

I'm fed up with you treating me as if I'm some kind of thickie.

It's not me that's thick, it's you! I'm the bloody Prince and you're only a butler.

Now go and get those actors here this minute, Mr Thicky-Black-Thicky-Adder-Thicky.

- Mrs Miggins, I'm looking for a couple of actors. - Well, you've come to the right place, Mr B.

There's more Shakespearian dialogue in here than there are buns.

All my lovely actors pop in on their way to rehearsals for a little cup of coffee

and a big dollop of inspiration.

You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they got drunk, stuck on a silly hat and trusted to luck.

Oh, no! There's ever so much hard work that goes into the wonderful magic that is theatre today.

Still I don't expect you'd know much about that, being only a little butler.

They do say, Mrs M, that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain.

They are of course wrong, as you'll soon discover when I stick this toasting fork in your head.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome Mr David Keanrick.

- And the fabulous Mr Enoch Mossop. - Hurrah! Gentlemen, gentlemen!

Settle down, settle down, settle down. I'm sorry, no autographs.

- The usual, Mrs M. - Coming up, my lovely.

Well, if I can just squeeze through this admiring rabble.

Gentlemen, I've come with a proposition.

How dare you, sir. You think just because we're actors we sleep with everyone.

I think, being actors, you're lucky to sleep with anyone.

I come here on behalf of my employer, to ask for some elocution lessons.

I fear, sir, that is quite impossible. We are in the middle of rehearsing our new play.

We could not possibly betray our beloved audience by taking time off.

Oh no, mustn't upset the punters. Bums on seats, laddie, bums on seats.

And what play is this?

It is a piece we penned ourselves,

called "The Bloody Murder of the Foul Prince Romero and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife".

A philosophical work, then.

Indeed yes, sir.

The violence of the murder and the vastness of the bosom are entirely justified artistically.

- Right, I'll tell the Prince that you can't make it. - Prince?

Sorry, yes, didn't I mention that? It's the Prince Regent. Shame you can't make it.

No, no, no, please, no. Please wait, sir.

Off, off!

- I think we can find some time, Mr Keanrick. - Definitely, Mr Mossop.

No, you've got your beloved audience to think about.

- Sod the proles! We'll come. - Yes, worthless bastards to a man.

It's nice to see artistic integrity thriving so strongly in the acting community.

This afternoon at four, then, at the Palace.

- Well, what do you think? - Are you ill or something?

No, I'm simply trying to look more like an actor.

- I'm sure you don't need the false moustache. - No?

Ow!

Egads, it's that oppressed mass again!

That is Baldrick spring cleaning.

Oh yes, so it is.

- Finish the job later, Baldrick. - The cleaning or the being strangled?

Either suits me.

This is all getting a bit hairy, isn't it? Are you sure we can even trust these acting fellows?

Last time, three of them murdered Julius Caesar, and one of them was his best friend Brutus.

As I've told you about eight times, the man playing Julius Caesar was an actor called Kemp.

- Really? - Yes.

Thundering gherkins! Brutus must have been pretty miffed when he found out.

What?

That he hadn't killed Caesar after all, just some poxy actor called Kemp.

Do you think he went to Caesar's place after the play and killed him then?

Oh, God, it's pathetic!

- Is that the door? - Don't worry, it's just the actors.

My uncle Baldrick was in a play once. It was called Macbeth.

- And what did he play? - Second codpiece.

Macbeth wore him in the fight scenes.

So he was a stunt codpiece?

Did he have a large part?

Depends who's playing Macbeth.

Incidentally, Baldrick, actors are very superstitious.

On no account mention the word "Macbeth" this evening, all right?

It brings them bad luck and it makes them very unhappy.

- Oh, so you won't be mentioning it either? - No.

Well, not very often.

You should have knocked.

Our knocks, impertinent butler, were loud enough to wake the hounds of hell.

- Lead on, McDuff. - I shall.

Lest you continue in your quotation and mention the name of the Scottish play.

Never fear, I shan't do that.

By the Scottish play, I assume you mean Macbeth.

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

- What was that? - We were exorcising evil spirits.

Being but a mere butler, you will not know the great theatre tradition

that one does never speak the name of the Scottish play.

What, Macbeth?

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

You mean you have to do that every time I say "Macbeth"?

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

Will you please stop saying that! Always call it "the Scottish play".

- You want me to say "the Scottish Play"? - Yes!

Rather than "Macbeth"?

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

For heaven's sake, what is all this hullabaloo, all this shouting and yelling blue murder?

It's like that play we saw the other day, what was it called?

Macbeth, sir.

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

- No, no, it was called Julius Caesar. - Ah yes, of course, Julius Caesar.

Not Macbeth.

Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ow!

- Are you sure you want these people to stay? - I asked them, didn't I, Mr Thicky Butler.

Your Royal Highness, may I say what a great honour it is to be invited?

- Why certainly. - Thank you.